


Enlightenment Over Whiskey

by Detective_Animator



Series: Helpful Drinking Buddies [1]
Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Crossover, Gen, Jessica Jones (TV) Spoilers, Jessica and Dean are drinking buddies, Sam is a Saint, Supernatural Spoilers, They're both alcoholics, drunk!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detective_Animator/pseuds/Detective_Animator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This, is certainly not how she planned to spend her night. She didn't plan becoming brief drinking buddies with some random guy who happened to sit next to her.</p><p>Nor did she expect to get some moral enlightenment over it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enlightenment Over Whiskey

Jessica Jones has been to a lot of bars. Most of them shit, cheap bars that are sketchy as hell.

Probably why she stopped going to them, except on the ever-decreasing occasion she felt like actually being around people. Still, buying in bulk is cheaper.

Regardless, here she is, sitting in some seedy, no-good bar that Trish would probably be horrified that she was in.

Speaking of Trish, she was still trying to get her to take cases again. Jessica didn't want to take any cases, damn it.

She doesn't know why she stopped. She'd taken one or two after killing Kilgrave, but she'd just stopped. None of them seemed interesting to her, truthfully.

It felt like the same old thing. _'My husband's cheating!' 'I think my wife is having an affair.' 'My daughter hasn't come home, please help me find her.'_

Same old bullshit. It's not that she doesn't like helping people, she tried the stupid 'hero' stunt. It hadn't turned out. She likes helping people, but it's the _same old bullshit_.

Maybe she's depressed. Jessica laughs bitterly at the thought, dismissing it. It would just be one more thing to check off on the list of slowly growing shit that piled up on her list of _'definitions to define Jessica Jones'_. Right up there with "PTSD", "Alcoholic" and "Gifted Freak."

So, she sits and drinks, ignoring most of the chatter around her. It's times like these that she misses Luke and his bar.

Well, it did kind of go up in his face, literally.

Shit, she misses Luke. Fucking bastard, running off when she helped his ass. He didn't even say goodbye. Asshole.

Not that she really _deserves_ a goodbye. She did shoot him in the head. And kill his wife. And a whole bunch of other shit.

Really, she wouldn't have said goodbye to herself either.

Still, she's here, nursing a bottle of whiskey slowly with no bartender to talk to, when a man plops down beside her. Now, normally people didn't sit beside her. Why? Jessica didn't know.

Maybe she gave off the _'don't-fuck-with-me'_ vibe. Which was all well and good. She didn't really give two shits, or any shit for that matter, about what people thought about her.

So, when this guy plops down in the bar stool and orders a whiskey, Jessica decides the maybe he's an idiot, or really smart.

Or he wants to get in her pants, which is probably most likely.

Regardless, she approves of his choice of liquor. So that's a plus, she supposes.

She pours herself another glass-roughly half the bottle has been drained since she'd sat down an hour ago-and is about to take a sip when the guy speaks up.

"Rough day?" He asks, raising his own glass to his lips. Jessica blinks, before giving a careless shrug.

"They're all rough." She answers, drawing an agreeing half-laugh from his lips. Or, she supposes he's agreeing with her. A grin curls at his mouth from the rim of the glass, and he sets it down with a soft click. "You?" She asks, taking a sip from her own glass.

"You could say so, just long I suppose." He replies, voice gruff, his shoulders lifting into a shrug.

"You from around here?" She asks after a pause, her tone casual, curious even. She can't help it, she's a fucking PI with PTSD. That's curiousity with a capital 'C'.

Or crazy, it's probably both really.

"Just passing through. Me and my brother. We're on a road trip." He answers, his tone short. His head turns slightly to look at her. He's all sharp angles, with worn green eyes and he looks tired. Jessica knows that look. She's seen it too much, too often. "I'm assuming you are?" He asks, his tounge darting out to lick his lips briefly.

"Yeah, why? Looking for a tour guide? Because I'm shit at tours." She asks dryly, hoping maybe her sarcasm will make him go away. Malcolm was right, after all, she did use sarcasm to distance people. He chuckles instead, and damn it, he has a sense of humor.

"Nah. Just curious. Wondering if you've seen anything strange going on around here lately." He says casually. Jessica laughs, was this guy for real?

"You mean _besides_ the aliens, and ninjas, and whatever weird crazy ass LSD shit?" She jokes lamely, and he grins slightly. "No, nothing weird." It's kind of a lie, but this guy isn't going to believe her when she says mind control, so she doesn't bother.

"Dean Winchester." He introduces, holding his glass out to her.

"Jessica Jones." She clicks her glass against his.

\--

They don't get drunk drunk-well, she doesn't, it turns out Dean can't hold his liquor as well as she can. So, meaning, he's kind of unconscious, 'kind of' meaning fading in and out of sleep. Jessica is somewhat buzzed and has no choice but to see him to wherever he's staying as a good, law-abiding citizen.

Not that she's a law-abiding citizen, or even a good citizen, she's just kind of is enjoying the guy's company. Kind of, except he's drunk off his ass and mumbling to himself. So he's not exactly company and more so dead-weight at the moment. Jessica doesn't pay much attention to it, but she catches little words like 'Cas' and 'sorry' and 'come back.'

She decides that he's just drunk, mumbling unintelligiblely, and thinks nothing of it. Why should she? It's none of her business.

So, she digs out his phone and scrolls through his contacts. She finds two names that stick out to her, the most called ones. One's this 'Cas' fellow, she assumes, and the other is 'Sam'.

She's not sure which one exactly to push, but figures a little trial and error can't hurt. Dean's probably to drunk to tell her anyways. She'd know, she's been there.

Hell, she is still there, if you ask the right people.

She tries the 'Cas' guy-or, she assumes he's a guy-first. It goes to voicemail, and she hangs up without leaving one. She finds 'Sam' again and presses the call button.

He picks up almost instantly.

_"Dean! What the hell man-"_

"Yeah, I'm not your brother, sorry. He's kind of..." She cuts him off, and pokes Dean lightly. "Drunk." She finishes decidedly. There's a half-sigh, half-groan on the other end. Apparently this happens a lot.

_"I am so sorry about this. It's been rough-"_

"Don't apologize. I really don't give two shits." She cuts him off again. "Kind of my fault anyways. I was egging him on." She admits, rubbing the back of her head slightly.

 _"Right, well, I'll be over in a few."_ Sam sighs. _"What bar are you two at?"_ He asks, and Jessica glances around, catching a neon sign that reads 'Josie's'.

She gives him the address, and says a swift goodbye before hanging up. Turning, she slips his phone back into his pocket and hauls him over her shoulder effortlessly.

The movement stirs him awake, and he lets out a low moan.

"You puke on my shoes, I'm dropping you onto the pavement." She threatens lightly.

"What?" He sounds confused, as if he hadn't heard her. Jessica sighs.

"You puke on my shoes and I throw you into the nearest dumpster. How's that?" She repeats, firmer, and yes, she knows that's not what she just said. He's silent for a moment.

"You're carrying me?"

"Yes."

"You're strong."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"'Kay." His voice is child-like, mixed with a slur from the alcohol and a certain lightness. "Just checkin'."

They stand-well, Jessica stands, Dean's slung over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes because she doesn't trust him to stand on his own-on the sidewalk, and she peers down the road.

She knows that yeah, it's dangerous to be standing here in the dead of night in Hell's Kitchen of all places, but she really doesn't care.

"Jessica?" Dean asks after a mintue or so passes, his voice groggy and rough and Jessica knows he's still drunk because, well, she just knows.

She's been this drunk before. It doesn't just go away after hanging over someone's shoulders for a few mintues.

"Yeah?" She says back, figuring that she should at least humor the poor bastard.

"Thanks." His voice tickles her ear, thick, sleepy and slurred.

"For what?" She's genuinely confused, truthfully. Not many people thank her. She's not the type of person to receive thanks. Most people just shout at her that she's wrong, despite the fact that they fucking hired her to find dirt.

Hell, the last people who thanked her ended up dead in her elevator or with the stem of a wine glass stabbed in their juggler, or worse than that, so she's not exactly fond of the word.

"For helpin'. 'S nice thing to do." Dean slurs, and Jessica just hums slightly.

"Sure, I could still drop you on this pavement." She replies, breaking the truthfully awkward conversation, and Dean hiccups slightly, nearly making Jessica drop him.

"You won't do that. 'S not nice." He mumbles after a beat, and she wonders how fucking far their hotel or whatever is from this goddamn bar.

"Since when was I nice?"

"Well you're helpin' me." He points out. Damn it, she hates drunk people who have a fucking point, because you can't argue with drunk people who have a point.

God damn it, where the hell is this Sam guy?

"I'm going to drop you if you don't shut the fuck up." She says, and Dean seems to wisely shut up.

So, after that, she stands in silence, and maybe a mintue later some black muscle car pulls up on the side of the road. The door squeaks open and a man, around Dean's age probably, climbs out.

"Hey, uh, Sam Winchester. Thanks for looking out for him." Sam's staring at her oddly, and damn it he's _tall_. Maybe as tall as Luke, or just about.

"Ah, right. Jessica Jones." She clears her throat, realizing why he's staring at her oddly. After all, she is holding a fucking grown man on her shoulders like he weighs nothing. "So, uh, do you want me to just-?" She gestures to the car, and Sam seems to snap out of whatever weird trance he's in.

"Oh, yea, just, uhm, dump him in the back." Sam scratches his head slightly. Jessica nods, pulling the door open and laying Dean down on the leather seat.

"S'mmy?" Dean slurs, blinking foggy green eyes.

"Yeah buddy, right here." Sam pats his leg as he gets into the car. "Hey, do you want a ride home? It's getting late and I'd hate to leave you out here, expessically since you helped my brother." He asks, tipping his head like an adorable puppy, a big one, but still. Jessica pauses, before against her better judgment, she nods.

"Sure." She relents, and crosses over to the other side, getting into the passenger seat.

"Thanks again, for, you know." Sam starts when they pull out. Jessica eyes him strangely, because damn it, to many people are thanking her today. It's _really_ weird.

"Don't mention it." She manages to get out, looking away. Sam seems to sense the awkwardness, and decidedly lets it drop.

Dean, unfortunately, doesn't notice it.

"S'mmy? She's a good person." Dean pipes up from the back seat, sounding tired and drunk.

"Is she?" Sam inquires, with the patience of a fucking saint. He looks amused, and she sees him shoot her a look.

"Yeah."

"Well, alright buddy, go back to sleep."

\--

"You're sure you don't need help?" Jessica asks as she climbs out of the car.

Not that she's _offering_ to help or anything. She doesn't offer to help, that's Trish's job.

"No, I think I got it." Sam says, shaking his head. Jessica nods slightly, sliding her hands into her pockets. "Dean's right, you know."

"What?" She stops a few steps away, half turned to the building.

"You're a good person, Jessica."

"You hardly know me." She brushes off, waving a hand.

"True." Sam's lips curl upward into a smile. "But Dean's a pretty good judge of character. You did go through the trouble of calling me."

"Anyone would have done that."

"Not necessarily." Sam points out, and Jessica scowls at him. "Hey, look, you're right, I don't know you, but you helped my brother. That makes you a good person in my book."

"Yeah, whatever. You really seem to have shitty standards if you think I'm a good person. Thanks for the ride. You should get him home." She mutters, waving her hand to where Dean was sleep. "See ya."

She turns before he can thank her again, stalking into her apartment complex and stomping up the stairs to her apartment.

She gets up to her apartment, her eyes turning down to her phone. She sighs, because damn it she needs rent money, and slides down into the seat behind her desk as she dials a number.

"Hey, yeah is this Carol Young? Yes, uh, it's Jessica Jones, you called a few weeks ago about thinking that your husband was cheating? If you can come down to my office tomorrow morning..."


End file.
